This is my Sindarin translation of the Night Song from Thus Spake Zarathustra by Nietzsche. I was planning to update it (it's a bit old now) with our newest discoveries on the language but I'm too busy for that at the moment, and I wanted to share it now, so here.

Cevir o nin: ach besson i-faer dîn? Gas im aned a chaved; a phen bóra athrad i-'as ro-bín vedui.They take from me: but do I yet touch their soul? There is a gap 'twixt giving and receiving; and the smallest gap hath finally to be bridged over.

Saeth eria o bainassen: merin naethad hain i gallon; raphed aníron ui-hain i ónen: – se i-haeth nîn an-oglas.A hunger ariseth out of my beauty: I should like to injure those I illumine; I should like to rob those I have gifted: – thus do I hunger for wickedness.

Mad evíner i-nîr hennen, a gwalath gúren? Ai, i-eras ónath! Ai, i-dîn cólath!Whence have gone the tears of mine eye, and the down of my heart? Oh, the lonesomeness of all bestowers! Oh, the silence of all shining ones!

Enyr laew periar o-hery: pedir na-chalad dîn anin-nadath vyrn – ach dínen annin.Many suns circle in desert space: to all that is dark do they speak with their light – but to me they are silent.

Ai, se i-goth calad anin-gaul: ruida arníred i-rath dîn.Oh, this is the hostility of light to the shining one: unpityingly doth it pursue its course.

Sui alagos in-enyr ruidar idh-reth dîn: se i-lennedir. Ruidar in-innas arníred dîn: se i-ringassedir.Like a storm do the suns pursue their courses: that is their travelling. Their inexorable will do they follow: that is their coldness.